


I Offer At Your Altar

by FromAnonymousToZ



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: A golden comb, A spool of silver, But I wont beleive you, I mean I guess you could tell me he isnt a romantic, M/M, Pining, Pottsfeild proposals, The sun - Freeform, Well - Freeform, You can't tell me the beast isnt a romantic, and the moon, mentioned wedding, might do a second chapter, proposal, proposing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAnonymousToZ/pseuds/FromAnonymousToZ
Summary: Weddings in Pottsfeild were puzzling things, and the Beast had had the pleasure of attending several, courtesy of Enoch's entrapping hospitality.However, it was their proposals he was more interested in.(Or, what did the beast really need a golden comb, a spool of silver and the sun for?)
Relationships: The Beast/Enoch (Over the Garden Wall)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	I Offer At Your Altar

**Author's Note:**

> For what did he need a golden comb, a spool of silver and the sun?  
> The hand of a harvest god this shadow thought he'd won  
> But the poor creature worried the lord needed more coercion
> 
> So he brought three gifts before his altar  
> But the harvest lord's oblivion caused him to falter  
> It seemed his love would die among the halters
> 
> All his striving seemed to no avail  
> This poor shadow's quest was doomed to fail  
> But me thinks, love will prevail

Weddings in Pottsfeild were puzzling things, and the Beast had had the pleasure of attending several, courtesy of Enoch's entrapping hospitality.

However, it was their proposals he was more interested in.

Though he had seen more Pottsfeild weddings than proposals, he had seen enough of them to get the general gist of the thing.

The man would ask his lady to marry him, and assuming she said yes, she would say: she wouldn't marry him until he brought her a golden comb, a spool of silver, the sun, and the moon.

Thankfully, Enoch had explained the symbolism to the Beast without prompting.

The Beast could only imagine the mortifying experienc it would be to try to explain to Harvest Lord why he was interested in Pottsfeild marriages.

A golden comb simply signified their union; men wore golden rings and women golden combs. Though Enoch had added rather jovially, men would usually wear the combs if it was two men who were married and women usually chose to both wear rings.

The silver thread would be used to sew the dress and veil of the bride along with the suit of the groom; it would show the unbreakable strength of their bond.

The sun was some sort of proof he would do anything for her, traditionally a thing she had coveted for a long time, though sometimes it was purely symbolic.

And the moon was one of his family heirlooms, as proof, he would give himself only to her, usually his father's pocket watch.

Enoch had always been one for enjoying symbolism and layered meanings and mortals had always entertained him with their innuendos and veiled lies. Of course proposals were things of symbols and hidden meanings.

It had made the Beast wonder if perhaps the way to Enoch's heart was through tradition. With the oozingly honey-sweet way Enoch would sigh at young lovers and ignore all of the Beast's attempts the Beast wondered if perhaps this was the way to make his intentions clear.

No more half-spoken conversations, no more allusions or tentative hopes. No more gifts left at Pottsfeild’s border, or tittering teasing tones. He would finally make clear his intentions.

If the Beast were to court Enoch in a way the death god would recognize, he would have to obtain these items. He fixated on them; they were the key to Enoch's heart.

He knew the items would merely get him through the proposal, not the wedding. The wedding in and of itself would be sure to pose a problem. Pottsfeild weddings were usually joyous raucous parties that were filled with storytelling and laughter; he would be expected to stand before them and make polite conversation.

The Beast wasn't nearly as interested in that, Enoch could organize a wedding; the Beast just had to initiate it.

Despite his rapidly blossoming hopes, he found them frozen like so many of the hopes of winter.

How was he to find a golden comb? The winter wood was not a place of riches, and no handmaiden wore a golden comb upon her hair.

Golden rings were not considerably easier to find with most wedding bands being of silver or bronze. It was a waste of potentially good money to use gold in such frivolous and easily lost things as a ring, and the Beast did not have the riches to commission a blacksmith to make a ring for him.

No one spun silver into thread in the winter wood, it was much too precious a commodity for trading and jewelry. Pottsfeild had no use for silver and more than a little in their stores, but in the winter wood it was scant.

Furthermore, for what did a god of death desire? What gift could the Beast give him that he did not have or would not have?

The Beast wasted many a year searching for these gifts before the brothers came to the unknown. He had at last found at the very least a lead to finding a spool of silver and her name was Adelaide.

And then the brothers had come and left Adelaide in smoke and the Beast’s single hope dissolved with the night air.

So, when young Gregory had come to him, in a fit of something like spite, he had tasked the boy with finding the same three items he had slaved over for years.

When Gregory brought a spool of spider’s silk, the Beast had very nearly scoffed, but as he considers it he realizes the childlike genius of it. He sends the boy to find a golden comb and is delighted to find the boy has found one. A honeycomb may not be traditional, but Enoch is hardly a traditional member of Pottsfeild himself.

And then he had tasked Gregory with the impossible. But as edelwood crept around the boy, the Beast regarded the little cup. He laughed, children were ingenious, Gregory couldn't have captured the sun in this cup, but with a murmured spell the Beast could.

The boys left the wood, but the Beast could barely be bothered to regret the loss of two potential edelwood trees when he has everything he needs.

It's asking that ends up posing the real problem, he keeps choking on his words whenever the death god faces him. He fares perfectly fine until the harvest lord's attention is fully focused on him.

Enoch's concern grows with every false start; the Beast can smell it. So he gives up asking if he cannot smith words to fit his questions he will make his intentions clear.

Unfortunately, Enoch has never been much good with detecting subtlety in any measure.

Enoch and the Beast are within Enoch's barn, speaking of land and ownership and haggling as if they actually care. Enoch had learned long ago if he pulled the right strings the Beast would give in easily unless there was an edelwood on the land. Enoch rather thought the Beast was delightful for allowing himself to be so easily bent to Enoch's whim, knowing full well that if the Beast decided he would rather keep his forest there would be very little Enoch could do about it.

They have just come to an agreement, Enoch cannot exactly remember over what, but he knows that he was in truly jovial spirits.

"Harvest lord," Enoch hums his acknowledgment. "I have a gift for you." Enoch's streamers stop in their twitching.

"A gift? How very wonderful, thank you neighbor!" He attempts to hide his surprise.

The Beast produces something from within his furs; it glittered a golden amber in the lamplight.

Enoch pauses to inspect it.

A honeycomb.

His neighbor cradled it among dark claws, offering it up like something sacred, almost hopefully.

Enoch ebbs satisfaction, trying to pull his puzzlement under a blanket of pleasure so as to keep from tipping off his neighbor that he doesn't understand.

"It's lovely." He purrs, and the Beast seems to preen. Enoch takes it in flexing ribbons and holds it until the Beast departs late into the evening. He observes it with a critical eye, turning it over in fabric streamers and holding it to the light.

It's merely a honeycomb, nothing more nothing less, but the way the Beast had offered it, as if it was worth a king's ransom, made him wonder if perhaps something was getting lost in translation.

Perhaps honeycombs were gestures of friendship in the winter woods, a peace offering of some sort. Enoch turned it in his ribbons following the hexagonal patterns with a single ribbon.

The Beast had given Enoch gifts before. Enoch had, in turn, offered some of his own, a corpse here or there or a few rotting things and Enoch would send a wayward soul or two his way. But the Beast had never called any of these things a gift, he treated them as things Enoch was doing him a favor by taking. Enoch could see through the flimsy guise but had accepted the gifts without saying anything about it, but this was different.

Perhaps the Beast had simply treated it so preciously because honey was so rare in the heart of winter, perhaps...

Enoch stilled his mind from continuing to carve the what-ifs it so easily flitted to and placed the honeycomb safely in a corner of his loft untouched by animals or Pottsfeilders alike.

It's a fortnight and a half or so later that they stand in one of the cornfields as a cold wind ripples his tendrils and whirls around the Beast when the second gift comes.

"I have another gift for you harvest lord." The Beast looks unflinchingly towards the winter wood, his head tilted towards the moon in the sky.

"Oh?" Enoch rumbles, dipping his head slightly towards the Beast. The moon shines high and silent up above.

This time the gift shines silver in the moonlight, gleaming gossamer strands woven about a stick held towards him, his neighbor's eyes flashing the most delightful shades of yellow and red.

He takes it in eager ribbons, caressing a waving loose end. He turns it carefully in the light, inspecting it carefully.

He watches the Beast in the corner of his eye trying to read anything in his neighbor's normally impassive body language. His neighbor watches him expectantly body quivering with unvoiced energy.

"How wonderful," The Beast seemed to relax his eyes half mooning as he moves to wave off the gesture but Enoch cuts him off.

"Perhaps I can have it woven into new streamers!" The Beast is suddenly standing ramrod straight as if struck by lightning, his eyes flare blue, which is quickly chased away by a desperate attempt at composure and back into normal blinding white light.

Enoch is quiet for a long moment staring at the ruffled figure before him; his concern wavering in the air.

"Are you quite alright Hope Eater?"

"Fine. Fine." His voice is more strained than usual, and he has not relaxed in his posture. "I must..."

Words seem to fail the antlered winter king, and he instead gesticulates with a wooded hand towards the woods. 

"I must take my leave." And with that, the Beast disappears through the corn stocks, leaving Enoch with a spool of spider silk and more than a few questions.

Enoch has come to dread the words "I have a gift" by the time the third gift comes.

The Beast always seems so out of sorts after giving Enoch one of these gifts and is always so jittery beforehand. Enoch nearly tears his ribbons to tatters dreading these curious rituals that it seems only the Beast understands. Enoch can only hope he does not grievously offend the Beast with his polite acceptance of these gifts.

The third gift comes in a teacup.

"I have a gift for you harvest lord." The Beast rumbles and Enoch thinks he detects a note of excitement in his neighbor's voice.

"Why thank you, Hope Eater." The gift offered before him is no honeycomb oozing amber, it is no twig wrapped in gossamer silver, it groans with power from inside the teacup.

The bright gleaming surface of it is like liquid gold, a fierce liquor held aloft by dark claws an offering from one deity to another.

Enoch wraps his ribbons about it, and it is hot. Enoch has no nerves in this form. He does not feel, but the power that radiates from this cup is positively blazing, scorching the edges of his very essence.

What must it have done to the winter warden to keep it beneath his furs, close to his frozen heart?

"How?" Enoch's word holds weight, old and lofty. A cup of the sun is no small thing, it is power in its liquid form.

"It was a simple spell, I haven't a clue what I was using it for, I figured you would make better use of its than I." Turning sunlight to liquid was no simple spell, it wasn't some mere charm, and with the Beast's absolute inability to wield magic in a linear order the spell must have taken quite a bit out of him.

"Thank you," he says and means it with every fiber of this body and every other form he possesses.

The Beast assures him it was no trouble but Enoch can’t help but note the decidedly joyus- dare he say it- contentedness that hangs around his darling Beast for the rest of the evening.

When the Beast takes his leave once more, Enoch finds himself staring at the three gifts tucked away in secret, wondering, what did it mean?

And then one evening barely a handful of weeks later the dark lantern of all things is shoved into his ribbons with an idle word from the Beast to: "Hold on to this for me till dawn."

Or something like that.

It shocks and mortifies Enoch to his very core, and he finds himself wondering if something has happened to his darling Beast.

And then it happens again.

And again.

And again.

It happens with such frequency, at the end of one of their evenings the Beast will hand him the dark lantern with little explanation and return for it in a few nights. The Beast does not hand off his lantern lightly. It is a great show of trust that Enoch takes care to protect, but it is alarming and not just mildly so.

It is after one of these evenings, when the lantern has been left in Enoch's custody, that he allows Miss Clara to console him.

"I do not see why you are so distraught, Enoch. He is merely giving you gifts." She says as she carefully stitches a ribbon to the base of his head. Her careful fingers move deftly tugging coarse thread between them.

"These are not the gifts he usually gives, these are... There is meant to be a meaning behind them that I am unable to comprehend." Enoch laments, holding the dark lantern in his two foremost feelers caressing it, just as the teacup had been warm the lantern was cold.

"Well, why don't you let me have a look at them, and we'll see if we can't piece together the meaning of them? Nobody gets anything done when you are moping around."

"Moping? Miss Clara, you wound me." He feigns swooning but obliges her gently, easing the three gifts down from their perch.

Miss Clara puts her hands on her hips and stares down the three things.

"A honeycomb, a spool of spider silk, and a cup of...?" She murmurs.

"Sunlight." Enoch helpfully supplies. "And his lantern if you'd like to count that too." He mutters and busies himself with tending the lantern, brushing a ribbon over it’s cold surface.

"A comb, a spool of thread, a cup of the sun, and a lantern." She repeats.

She tries several explanations, all with gaping flaws or simply half-baked ideas that were of no use to him. Finally, she collapsed into his ribbons with a huff.

"A comb, a spool of thread, a cup of sunshine and a lantern." She mutters and he hums.

"Perhaps-" She cuts herself off and busies herself with worrying his ribbons.

"A golden comb, a spool of silver, the sun and the moon." She suddenly murmurs propping herself up.

"What did you just say, my dear? Enoch's focus squares upon the exciting young woman.

She stands sharply, practically dancing on the balls of her feet.

"A golden honeycomb! A spool of silver spider silk, the sun and-" But Enoch's attention is no longer on her but on the lantern, he holds aloft before him in reverent ribbons.

"The moon." He breathes it out as a scarce whisper.

"That poor man has been courting you for years, Enoch!" Miss Clara gasps, horrified. "No wonder you say he's been all out of sorts. The man has been offering you bridal gifts and all you've done is politely accept." Enoch distantly hears what she says as his awestruck adoration of the Beast slowly melted into horrifying realization.

"Oh, my heavens. What have I done?" Enoch sinks down against the wall of his barn. "I could have at least offered him a ring or... Or said yes... or anything..."

"Enoch, dearie, please don't fret. If he's still offering his lantern, his invitation is still open. You just have to show him you accept, and nothing subtle, you two are dreadful at that."

"Yes, I'll do that," Enoch said with firm resolve. He sends Clara away somewhat regretfully, but she had been understanding and had wished him luck with a somewhat suggestive air.

When the Beast entered the barn, Enoch was making himself busy by sorting pumpkins determining which could be used and which could not. The voice of the night had slipped in and strode the same to the darkest corner of Enoch's barn where he was now standing cloaked in shadow.

"Ah, Hope Eater, I wonder if perhaps I could have your opinion on something." He hummed out, and the Beast, occupied by inspecting his wall gave a sound of acknowledgment, so he forged on. "I was thinking of an autumn wedding, perhaps just before the fall harvest," Enoch said, never turning his attention from the pumpkin in his feelers.

The Beast whirled so quickly Enoch could hear the wood of his neck crack and splinter.

The Beast stared at him wordlessly impassive for a long moment. Enoch continued his thorough inspection of the pumpkin in his ribbons.

"What?" The word was low and hissed but it may as well have thundered for all the weight it held.

"You and I, an autumn wedding, not that a winter wedding wouldn't be lovely. I just worry about finding a clearing and-" as he spoke the Beast's shoulders slowly lowered and his eyes half-lidded into swirling blue crescent moons.

"No, no, an autumn wedding is fine." The Beast waved idly with one hand as he returned to his scrutinization of Enoch's barn.

That had gone excellently in Enoch's opinion.

Wonderful.

He would start preparations immediately.


End file.
